


Life Is Like a Teen Movie

by MariposaenArullo (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Humor, M/M, Sexual Content, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/MariposaenArullo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dave has moved away, and John hasn't moved on.  And then Dave moves back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Is Like a Teen Movie

Your name is John Egbert and right now you really hate the fact that you owe Tavros a favor. 

It's the first day of school, a day that historically has been fodder for countless classic movie scenes. You feel nice and full from your dad's carefully made omelet cake this morning, stuffed with all manner of delicious things, and you're even a whole minute early for the yearly orientation assembly given by your perpetually furious principal. 

It's a weirdly great start to what you're pretty sure is going to be a horrible day, so you're not surprised when Tav catches you on your way, wheeling speedily to intercept you. 

“Uh, hi, John,” he says, and you can see something's gotten him pretty upset, "I need your help.”

He sounds so anxious all your thoughts of being late for school drop into the periphery of your mind, and you turn, stopping. 

“What’s wrong, Tav?” He can’t have done anything that bad, you think as you watch him worry his bottom lip, hands fluttering on the sides of the wheelchair. 

"Oh, it's not, like, a big deal or anything, but, um -- you know how I joined the Welcoming Committee last year?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yep,” you say encouragingly, resisting the urge to glance over at the entrance to the auditorium, where the crowd of entering students has already trimmed down to a trickle. You can just see the stupid principal’s face go apoplectic with rage as latecomers sneak in. Great start to the year, John. Just great. And this is supposed to be the year you actually stop your admittedly hilarious antics and focus on schoolwork. 

Anyway, the Welcoming Committee? It sounds vaguely and sinisterly familiar to you. Oh, yeah! That's the creepy club Rose started to one-up her mom after she said she wanted an exchange student. Weird. Oh, Tav's saying something, you should probably listen. 

“Well, I was all set to, y’know, welcome this new kid -- well, Rose says he’s not really new, he was here in middle school but moved and now he’s back? -- anyway, I’m supposed to meet him and take him around the school. But apparently I need an upperclassman to help me?” Tav breaks off, looking ashamed. “I know Rose told me I needed to find somebody but I must’ve forgot. It’s just, you know, school policy. I guess I don’t know enough about the school since I’m only a sophomore. And besides, he’s a junior, you’re a junior, so I thought...”

Well, okay. That's a far cry from the "I killed my baby with heroin" speech you thought you were going to get. Jeez, that movie was scary. “Sure,” you tell him, grinning to put him at ease. 

He sinks back in his chair and grins back, thanking you profusely. “Yes! Thanks so much, John, I mean, Rose said it’d be a good idea to ask you and I knew you’d help me...”

Tav chatters to you as you walk towards the front of the school where this new kid is supposed to be waiting. Your high school’s really nice, big, red-bricked, covered in ivy in some places. It’s public, too, which is both a blessing and a curse. You get kids like Tav, lower middle class by the skin of his family’s teeth, and kids like -- well, like Rose or Jade, with oodles of old money stacked away. Did you really just say oodles? Loser. Anyway, most kids are nice here, which is saying a lot. But there are some douchebutts hanging around, so you’re careful, because even though you’ve grown half a foot since middle school you’ve still got too many teeth and giant doofus glasses. 

You wonder what category the new kid’s going to fall into. Tav said he’s lived here before, right? _Moved away after middle school, ___your brain supplies helpfully, and your stomach twinges with the memory of another guy who moved before starting high school. You swallow and shove the thought away, because you’re over that. Over with a capital Never Thinking About Him Again.

Wow, you really are a loser.

Tav rounds the corner of the green room, a few feet ahead of you, and you take a few quick steps to catch up. It’s a sunny, nauseatingly bright day, even at 7:30 in the darn morning. 

There’s a kid standing near the flagpole, too blurry to make out from the distance you’re at, also because his head’s turned the opposite way, reading the graffiti that’s only been partially scrubbed from the brick pathway. Tav’s already rolling toward him quickly, probably wanting to assure him that he’s in the right place. You can imagine his giant smile, custom-made for awkward get-to-know-you meetings. He's an awesome friend, you think fondly.

And then the guy turns his head and your stomach drops into your knees, because that’s -- that’s Dave -- you pause to find the appropriate swearword -- Dave MOTHERFUCKING STRIDER. You make a sound that’s somewhere between a pre-vomit gag and a gasping choke, and it seems like your vision breaks into a million pieces behind the thick lenses of your glasses. All you know is it doesn’t stop you from seeing him, one hand jammed in his jeans pocket, looking all manner of coolkid. For a second you’re actually afraid you’re going to faint, your heart’s beating too-fast, too-fast, and your hands are producing abnormal amounts of salty fluid, and this is all a dream, right? Normally you’d laugh at such a corny line if it was in a movie or something, but this is too real, and the only sound you seem capable of making is a wheezy inhale.

Tav senses that you’re no longer at his heels -- or, shall you say, his wheels -- and stops to throw a questioning look back to you. 

You can tell when Dave sees you, because his free hand stops tapping a beat on his leg and clenches into a fist, his entire body goes taut as a bowstring. You feel a rush of satisfaction at breaking his whole cool, ice prince shindig, and when you think you lock eyes his mouth falls open just a sliver. You hate that you can’t see his eyes, _hate hate hate hate it hate him. ___

Tav is still looking at you, worry blooming in his face as he takes in your shaky, panicked appearance. _I can’t do this,_ you think about telling him, _I’ve gotta -- I forgot that I had to --_

But then you remember that this is Your Year, possession clearly emphasized, no hostages, full out war on stupid feelings that get in the way of doing what you want. You swallow down the giant lump in your throat, cough briefly, straighten up like the 5 foot eleven inch stud you are.

Dave Strider, you think, before starting to walk again, can go fuck himself. The words feel dirty in your mind, but they make you stronger. 

Tav gets to him first, and by then Dave has gotten himself under control -- was he ever out of it, you wonder, were you imagining that? -- and he has both hands in his pockets now, shades perched jauntily on his nose. His hair is, what, blonder than before, and longer, and you force yourself to stop noticing. Definitely not looking at his mouth. Or anywhere else. Also, you have at least three inches on him and that makes you really happy. 

“...So, you know, I’m Tavros, Tavros Nitram, but, uh, you can call me Tav. And, welcome to Riverside High School?”

Dave takes the hand Tav puts out, and if he’s surprised or uncomfortable with the wheelchair he doesn’t show it. But, then again, he doesn’t show anything on his stupid face, you think, and you’re completely calm.

“Dave Strider,” he replies, and you promise never to tell anyone, ever, but when he speaks your knees give way a little. His voice is lower, with a gravelly hint that wasn’t there in eighth grade, and if two years in the Texan sun has given him an accent, you can’t tell. 

And then he turns to you, oh gosh, oh wow, you’re not -- you stand up straight and look down at him, him and his dumb tee shirt and skinny black jeans and faded sweatshirt. His lips tighten, you think, and a dozen openers run through your mind, most of them containing anger and all very, very childish. One is just _I missed you,_ but that one gets put in the huge garage disposal conveniently located in the back of your mind. It gets incinerated immediately. Which doesn’t help. 

Tav beats both of you to speaking, though, happily oblivious. “And this, this is John Egbert, he’s a junior like you, so.”

Dave has the nerve to smirk at you, corner of his mouth pulling up and to the side. For a second it hurts so much you blank out, because you haven’t seen that smile -- it's more like the look a liger would give a regular tiger, you used to say -- for a really long time. 

“Egbert.” His voice sounds smug to your ears, but that’s probably just how he always sounds. He stares up at you, as if daring you to respond to all his hip awesomeness.

You swallow again. “Dave,” you acknowledge, smooth as Nic Cage being tortured, and to your credit your voice comes out pretty even and disinterested. And then you screw it all up, because you always have to fill in stupid awkward silences. “That’s -- uh, I like your shades. They’re, um, the same.”

He stands there silent for a moment, gazing at you with this weird look, and you resist the urge to cover your face in your hands. They’re the same? What does that even mean? You almost say something else, but Tav’s finally cottoned on to the fact that there’s something going on.

“Oh,” he says slowly, “do you guys know each other?” He looks awkwardly from Dave’s face to yours, biting at his lip again. 

You feel bad for bringing all your craziness into his life. Nice going, Egbert. “Uh, yeah,” you say, avoiding Dave’s eyes like they’re the second Bubonic Plague, “We knew each other. Before.”

You think Dave might have stiffened at that, but you can’t tell. He just nods in agreement, hands delving even deeper into his pockets. 

“Well, okay.” Tav blinks anxiously. “Why don’t we start showing you around?”

 

Later, when you get home, you abscond to your room and stare at the ceiling, hearing your dad bustle around the kitchen. You wait until your heart beat slows and you can trust your voice – like you can ever, the traitorous thing – and dial Rose's number. You don't feel like going on pesterchum tonight. "Rose said I should ask you," Tav's voice whispers as you listen to the ringtone. You get her voicemail, and all the sudden the anger is punched out of you and when the little beep comes you suck in a breath.

"Rose," is all you can manage, you idiot, and then you breath in sharply and hang up. 

You fall asleep before dinnertime, wake up in the middle of the night and wash the sour taste out of your mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> *covers face with hands*
> 
> Also, this was inspired by this awesome football political AU called The District, which I can't find anywhere.


End file.
